


an endless dark incline

by noiselesspatientspider



Category: Friends at the Table (Podcast)
Genre: Choking, Dom/sub, F/F, Multi, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-22
Updated: 2017-07-22
Packaged: 2018-12-05 08:09:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11573964
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/noiselesspatientspider/pseuds/noiselesspatientspider
Summary: Hella’s shirt is half-unlaced, Adaire’s skirt is rucked up to her hips, and she’s twisting her fingers in Hella’s hair to get better leverage when Hadrian groans.





	an endless dark incline

“You always know what I like,” Adaire says, and presses Hella up against the wall to kiss her. 

Hella’s shirt is half-unlaced, Adaire’s skirt is rucked up to her hips, and she’s twisting her fingers in Hella’s hair to get better leverage when Hadrian groans. It’s tiny, but Adaire pulls away, lets Hella kiss down her neck.

“Dammit,” she sighs. “I thought I told you not to make any noise?”

Hadrian looks contrite, in a desperate sort of way. He’s seated on a chair in the corner, his hands pressing fingerprints into his own thighs. He’s out of armor, but still clothed, and Adaire can see his erection tenting the soft pants he wears underneath them. There’s a bead of sweat trickling down the center of his chest, where his shirt doesn’t lace all the way up. “Sorry,” he says. “I’m sorry.”

“Hmm,” Adaire says. She turns to Hella, who pulls off Adaire’s collarbone with a wet pop to grin, feral, and drags him closer to the wall. If he reached out his hand, he could just touch Adaire’s skirt. He doesn’t say anything, though. Doesn’t move beyond the jerky clench and unclench of his hands. 

“I know you can be good,” Adaire says. “I’m generous. I’ll give you the chance to prove it to us. I won’t have Hella tie you up.”

Hadrian stares at her, chest rising and falling, steady. 

“You’re going to sit there, and you’re going to watch us,” Hella adds. “And you’re not going to move.” 

Then she turns away from him and strips efficiently, peeling off her pants and her shirt and unlacing the tunic she wears underneath. Her back is one long line of scarred muscle as she kneels down and undoes the buttons at Adaire’s waist. She slips Adaire’s skirts down, kissing at the expanses of thigh she reveals. 

Adaire steps out of her skirts, rests her hand on Hella’s shoulder, her thumb stroking at the juncture of shoulder and neck, the smooth weight of Hella’s collarbone. She allows herself a beat just to look at Hella. Hella looks back, a smile dancing at the corner of her lips. She’s beautiful like this, naked but for a pair of plain cotton underwear, her hair curling out of its bun around her ears. 

Hella’s smile widens, and her hand shoots up to palm at Adaire’s breast at the same time as she dives down to resume sucking bruises into Adaire’s inner thighs. She has long arms, is the thing, long, well-muscled arms and hands almost as clever as her tongue, and Adaire’s head hits the wall with a thunk.

She tilts her head back down so she can see Hella again, and behind her, Hadrian. Hella’s shifted her legs apart, arched her back. Adaire can see the shadow of her curling hair through her underwear, where she’s soaking it through. Hadrian can probably see it too.

“Do you like that?” she asks, her voice teasing. “I know you’ve thought about this, Hadrian, the way we come apart. The way we come together.”

Hella hums into her cunt, right on cue, and she groans. Her voice is a little shakier as she continues. “Would you like to touch us?” she asks.

“Yes,” Hadrian gasps. It sounds like it’s been punched out of him.

“Too bad,” Hella growls, and Adaire whines at the loss of her. She’s pushed herself off the wall in an instant to crouch over Hadrian. She looks glorious and terrifying, face wet, breasts hanging free just above him, her hand hovering over his throat. “Adaire told you not to talk, remember?”

Adaire laughs a little. “He was never going to get to touch, honey. Come back.”

Hella pouts until Adaire pulls her in and kisses her frown away, chasing the taste of herself on Hella’s tongue. “You can be mean to him later,” she whispers. “Right now I need you to be nice to me.” Hella nips at her lip as they part, and then she’s grinning up at her as if she’d never left. Adaire always forgets how fast she can move.

“Can I,” she asks, and starts to lift one leg so Hella can get a better angle. Hella just hums, and without missing a beat, helps Adaire sling her leg over Hella’s shoulder. 

With Hella helping to hold her up, Adaire can luxuriate in it, can draw out her spine and arch herself into Hella’s mouth. The sighs Hella draws out of her turn into moans. She looks over at Hadrian, holds his eyes, and rolls her nipple between her fingers, feeling the tingle where Hella’s fingers have left it swollen, wanting. She grabs blindly for Hella’s other hand, pulls it down toward her waist. 

“Please, just-- your fingers, I need your fingers. Hella, Hella, fuck, right there.” Adaire keeps it up as long as she can, looking Hadrian directly in the eyes. She pulls Hella’s head a little to the side so he has the best view she can give him of the way Hella’s got two fingers working in and out of her cunt, the way she’s pressed the heel of her other hand firm against her own pussy. Not moving it, just holding it there, holding herself off. 

“God, look at you. Look at you, gorgeous, so good for me. Hadrian, look.” Adaire lets her voice sharpen. 

Hadrian’s sweating freely now. In the heat of the room, his shirt clings to the rise and fall of muscles in his arms, where he’s moved them behind the chair as though his hands were tied there. She can see the strain in his shoulders. His dick is so hard he’s leaking through his pants.

Adaire grins at him, and lets herself moan a little louder, and watches as Hadrian jerks like he’s been hit. Oh, that’s an idea. She’ll file that away for later.

And then Hella does something incredible with her tongue, and despite herself, Adaire’s eyes fall closed, her hand clenching in Hella’s hair. Hella’s lapping all around her clit, broad strokes right across it with the flat of her tongue and then pulling back, licking around just the way she likes. Steady strokes with her fingers, teasing around her entrance and then plunging in, steady, even, solid. Adaire can feel the strength of Hella’s back beneath her leg, the muscles in her jaw working. All this power beneath her.

Hadrian’s just across from her still, held in check with just a few words from the two of them. The Sword of Samothes bent taut, ready to snap.

Adaire can hear her own breathing speed up, the muscles in her belly fluttering. “Hella, I-” she gasps, and then she’s coming, a rush of wetness Hella laps up greedily. Hella pulls her hand out and lifts Adaire up a little further, chasing her aftershocks. Adaire clutches her closer until she has to push her off and ease down the wall, legs shaking. 

She pulls Hella up to kiss her, sloppy, shoving her hand to join Hella’s in her underwear. She laughs, waits for Hella to move her hand, to yank the breeches down and kick them aside. Adaire turns her around so she’s facing Hadrian, so he can see Hella’s face, the way she bites at her lips, the blush blooming under even her darker skin. So he has to look at Adaire’s hands disappearing between her thighs, fingers plunging into Hella’s pussy where she’s swollen and dripping. On her capable hands, it doesn’t take long for Hella to come. She turns her head when she does, fumbles for Adaire’s lips, too far gone to really kiss. 

Adaire kisses at her open, panting mouth as she comes down, but she doesn’t break eye contact with Hadrian. He hasn’t spoken since that second slip. The only noise in the room is the crackling of the fire, dwindling in the grate, and three sets of rapid breaths.

“Well,” Adaire says. “I think he was pretty good, all things considered. What should we do with him now?” From his chair, Hadrian looks up at them, eyes wide and pleading.

Hella smiles back at her, lips bruise-red. “I have a few ideas,” she says, and she stalks forward, rolling her shoulders.

Adaire watches the ripple of muscle in her back, the curve of her ear. She would follow this woman anywhere, she thinks. So she does.

Hella puts Hadrian on his knees by the bed and her hand on his throat. She makes him strip off his shirt, shove his pants down and fold them under his knees. She tells him how good he’s being. She tells him how much he needs this. Adaire croons in his other ear, a tandem chorus of filth. 

Hella tightens her hand on Hadrian’s neck, careful, measured. “You can touch yourself,” she says, “and I want to hear you beg.”

Hadrian’s gasp of relief is practically a shout. He sags into Hella where she sits on the bed, forehead resting against her thigh. “Please,” he says, but it’s barely a croak. Hella is still cutting off his air. “Please, I don’t-”

“That's right,” Hella says. She eases up, strokes her thumb across the hollow of his throat. “That's right,” she tells him. “You’ve done so well.”

He’s jerking at himself roughly, no ease or gentleness in his touch.

“Easy,” Adaire says. 

Hella curls her fingers tighter. When she loosens them, he’s gasping, but his strokes are slower. She smiles. “Good.”

“How does this feel?”

Hadrian is moaning, little punched-out gasps of air. “It’s- I can’t-”

Adaire pulls his head up, forces eye contact. “Do you need to stop?”

He shakes his head. “No! No, it’s good, you’re both- oh- perfect. I just-” He breaks off, obviously half beyond words, frustrated.

“It’s all right,” Hella says again. “You don’t have to talk.” 

He nods, lets his head fall to her thigh again. 

“Are you ready to come?” Adaire asks.

Frantic nodding. “Please.”

“Come, then,” Hella says, and then she lifts him up by the neck with one hand. His feet dangle. Hadrian shouts, garbled, his whole face contorting, and does, streaking come up onto Hella’s hand and the side of her hip. He collapses onto the floor, where he kneels, gasping, wrecked. 

They come down slowly, Adaire wiping everyone clean with a wet cloth from the basin by the door. Hella gentles Hadrian, who despite shaky legs keeps trying to put his clothes back on. She helps him into his shirt, lets him lean on her as he eases the cotton pants over his twitching dick. 

The bed in this rented room isn’t really big enough for three. Hadrian balks initially, protesting something about returning to the church. It takes Hella to get him into it at all. 

“The whole point of this is you said you didn't want to be the sword all the time,” she says. “Let us do this for you.” 

So now he lies stiffly on the far side, Hella cradled in between them, one hand curled around Adaire’s wrist, the other resting on Hadrian’s chest. She’s snoring, little unspeakably tender snuffling noises, when Adaire feels the bed rise. She can’t see Hadrian’s face; the fire is just a few coals now. She lets him get to the door before she speaks.

“Hadrian,” she says softly. He pauses, hand on the doorframe, just long enough for her to realize she has nothing to say to this man. “Take care,” she says instead, inadequate, and she thinks she hears him laugh before he closes the door behind him. And then it is just her, and Hella, and a small sour tinge of failure in the pit of her stomach, and the embers shifting slowly towards darkness in the grate.

**Author's Note:**

> shoutout to the discord, that fucky haven. we're so mean to hadrian, but no meaner than he is to himself.
> 
> one day i will title a fic with something that isn't mountain goats lyrics, but today is not that day. title is from "choked out," because i think i'm real clever
> 
> i'm @shipyrds on twitter


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